Knowing About The One
by Mrs Bella Riddle
Summary: Three sisters. So very alike, yet so very different. Each found love in unexpected ways. The men and results may have been diverse, but, at some point, they all felt that stereotypical pull. Bella/Voldemort, Andromeda/Ted and Lucius/Narcissa.


A/N: This is written for the Hogwart's Games Women's Tennis (aka Black Family) and the Family Bootcamp Challenge with the prompt 'chemistry'. It was great writing this. I love playing off the similarities and differences with the Black sisters and even their relevant partners (or lack of).

* * *

Narcissa Black knew from the moment she had met him, that Lucius Malfoy was _the_ one. She was only young, but when her eight year old ears had picked up the tales of his wealth and bloodline and her eight year old eyes had targeted him they had never left. Mostly.

Narcissa Black was never selfless or someone with the ability to sustain feelings when she was not the most important person in the relationship. Her little eight year old eyes could sweep over his luscious blonde hair and hear how very fine his family was and retell the tales for all to hear. She could even tell her mother with considerable enthusiasm that she would be Mrs Malfoy and give her many blonde grandchildren. However, eight year old Narcissa was not adolescent Narcissa.

Seventeen pretty, pure, wealthy and available, Narcissa hid her smile behind her glass of wine as she took a measured sip.

"It is a rather well arranged event," Susanna Avery chirped from under the tuffs of pink fabric that were her dress. "Almost as well arranged as if you or your mother had planned the ball. I do wish I had your talent, Narcissa."

"Why thank you. I'm sure you will learn in time." Narcissa did not believe the words that left her mouth, but they sounded genuine which was all that mattered.

As she lied, she even managed to smile at Susanna's brother. Stewart Avery's mouth was slightly open and his eyes were glued to Narcissa. It impressed her. He was a smart young man. Of course, the Averys were not rich enough for her nor was she willing to marry a trading family, but she appreciated the attention. More men should fawn over her and they did.

She was deserving of the attention.

It was why little eight year old Narcissa's crush on Lucius was not practical. Men came to her. Despite the fact she was still in school, she did not follow after men like a pathetic school girl. No, she was too proud for that. Still, she supposed little eight year old Narcissa had a point.

From the completely coincidental angle of her chair, she could see Lucius. His face had changed with strong lines forming high cheekbones and a strong jaw while his hair was now even longer and even more tempting to touch. The Malfoys were even more powerful and their blood was just as pure. Gazing at him over the top of her glass, she could see herself on her arm, but not by lowering herself to simper after him. She was Narcissa Black. She would not chase.

She was about to lift her blue eyes from him to amuse herself with poor Stewart, but Lucius tilted his head from the plump balding man in front of him. Grey eyes met hers and she refused to look away. She would not be intimidated or seem like she was a fawning obsessed girl. No, she was Narcissa Black. Instead, she maintained eye contact and presented him with one perfectly constructed smile. She received none in return, but it did not matter. He turned back to his fat companion and she was in turn free to look at Stewart.

"You look very pretty tonight," he murmured softly now that his sister had turned away. His voice was quiet and shaky as if it took all his will to say these things. "Not that you don't always..."

"Thank you," she replied without flinching, "You look very handsome yourself."

He flushed pink and it took all self control to not laugh. Instead she sat straight backed and sipped her wine. She was quite content and in complete control; at least with Stewart.

Without warning, soft hands touched the tip of her shoulder and she could not help, but flinch at the unexpected content as a head bent down to her ear. "You're too good for Stewart Avery."

Narcissa was not sure what made her shiver, but turning to find Lucius Malfoy leaning against her chair caused something inside of her to stop and for the pause between her answer to be slightly too long. "Really? Then who would suggest?"

Lucius did not miss a trick. His answer was firm and without hesitation. "Me." Her cheeks flushed pink. She was not sure if it was caused by his words or when he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "You're only perfect for me."

* * *

Andromeda knew from the moment she had met him that Ted Tonks was _not_ the one. She had known of a sandy haired slightly plump Hufflepuff in her year. She had seen him amongst a group with badgers on their chests. She could vaguely pinpoint his name after six years of schooling and listening to his name being recited by several different teachers.

Barely. The fact of the matter was Ted Tonks could never and would never enter the span of her thoughts. She had known that for one simple reason- he was a mudblood.

Andromeda had never soaked up the fervour of blood purity like the rest of her family. Andromeda's life was motivated by logic and intelligence. Ever since she had stepped in the halls of Hogwarts it was simple to compare purebloods, half bloods and mudbloods. She could measure the behaviour, intelligence and attractiveness with very little effort. It had taken her only a few years to notice that the average marks between the groups were not different and the most successful boy in her year, Benjy Fenwick, had blood that was the equivalent of mud.

Andromeda knew this yet she raised her hand and waved goodbye to her close friends whose blood was pure or almost pure enough for them to be acceptable and leaned over to kiss the cheek of Rabastan Lestrange.

"I will see you after class," she murmured politely to the group of friends who had not made it into NEWT potions concentrating particularly on Rabastan. He smiled and she returned the smile just as she should as he moved in the direction of the dungeons.

She knew how life worked. She was Andromeda Black. She was a daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and, for that reason, her choice of husband, partner or, even friend, was limited. She was expected to associate with acceptable members and she would, even if broadening her horizons would have attained friends who would have been less frustrating and dense. If she looked beyond pureblood bachelors she could have found a boy who was not the brother of her sister's fiancé and someone who her feelings could be stronger. However, Andromeda did not live in a fairy tale. They did not exist so she made do with what she had. It was better to follow these rules and it was better to pretend she believed in purity of blood.

Andromeda liked things to be simple, so, when she entered the dungeons and found the spindly tables of each Slytherin occupied and only room left beside one blonde Hufflepuff, her nose pinched in disapproval.

"Oh there you are, Miss Black," Slughorn greeted from the front of the. "Have no fear. There is a seat over there next to Mr Tonks."

She could have recited a number of reasons why the ground would be better rather than sitting besides a mudblood, but she was Andromeda Black and she was not the type to engage in a conversation that would be pointless. Instead she only nodded and strode to the table and sat down gracefully. She did not look at the mudblood. She only stared straight at the front.

She continued to focus on Slughorn until she was forced to look away when they were all ordered to begin making their potions. Of course, today was in pars; the couple at each table.

"Get the ingredients," she said immediately, well aware that she sounded demanding, but he was only a mudblood. She noticed that his sky blue eyes were staring a little too much at her attractive aristocratic face, but she supposed even mudblood's could have good taste. "I'll start heating the cauldron."

"Sure," His voice was not quite as low as Rabastan, his cheeks were too pink, but somehow his smile was not unattractive as she dashed off to acquire the ingredients. The puzzlement of that conclusion caused he to pause for a moment, before she turned back to their cauldron and leaned down to light a fire underneath.

Andromeda was not sure how or why it was possible. Plump mudblood Tonks was sweating and his hands were covered in the muck from the plants she had instructed him to cut. She had watched the movement of his knife ready to point out if he made even the slightest error because she refused to lose marks because of some mudblood. She had observed it all and made sure everything was flawless. The sheen on the potion was the exact shade of violet, but she could not understand how Slughorn could hand over a piece of parchment with their grade for the class- O.

"Brilliant!" Ted exclaimed his face alight with delight and a broad grin. She did not know anyone who was as open with their emotions. Somehow it was not exactly unpleasant. "I haven't gotten an O in potions before. Thanks!"

She was a little surprised for him to have addressed the last part of his sentence to her. Sure it was correct, but it was peculiar to hear someone accredit their success to someone else so quickly.

"It was a group project," she stately curtly as she slid her textbook into her bag. "The credit should be shared."

"But you did most of it. At least you told me everything to do."

She was not sure how or why, but as she looked up at the mudblood the smile on his face was slightly infectious. The corners of her lips tilted upwards as she observed that the bright blue in his eyes which was strangely attractive. "It is fine."

He grinned and leaned over her and placed his arm on her opposite shoulder. It was half a hug and his blood yet alone his dirty hands should have made her stomach crawl. Instead, she felt something within her leap as he pulled away.

She was not sure what made her continue to watch him as he left. It was not at all logical, but, despite the fact she was Andromeda Black, she found she was still smiling.

* * *

She knew from the moment she met him that the Dark Lord was _the_ one, but not in the traditional way. Her knees were pressed into the dirty forest floor probably covered in muck and other grime. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the wind that whipped at her body and caused her hair to flutter behind her. Her heart was beating and her eyes could not look away from the figure in front of her.

It was the first time she had even glimpsed the Dark Lord. She had seen shadowy figures in the Prophet and she had extracted as much information as she physically could from her uncle who she credited for organising this meeting.

The Dark Lord lived up to every description that she had read or heard. Residing in his presence she could feel his power reverberating off him in waves causing every hair on her body to stand on edge. She could hear the command in his silky voice that she was sure no one could disobey. She could look up at his face that others had described as inhuman and note the waxy features, bloodied eyes and skin that was as pale as snow.

It was enough to solidify her view that she had acquired from the moment she had heard of a man planning to create the perfect world for purebloods. She was Bellatrix Black. She was a member of the Blacks and thus it was her job to defend the Black way of life and conquer mudbloods and blood traitors. He would be their saviour and she would serve.

"Your arm, Miss Black," he said softly his voice perfectly measured causing something within her to simultaneously shrink and exclaim with delight as she lifted her left forearm. She was more than a little conquered by the power of the man as he drew closer.

This was the man she would serve. She knew that. She was sure his power was perfect. She was sure he could be nothing more than a perfect leader.

Then he touched her arm.

Her fingers flinched slightly as he brushed the back of his cool hand against them as he reached for the sleeve of her robe. Her cheeks flared this time from something other than the weather. Lightning zapped within her. She could feel his power, but she could feel something in her stomach that was not at all appropriate.

He was the Dark Lord.

At what felt like an antagonising slow speed, he slowly dragged up the sleeve of her robe. Her arm was shacking and she was gripping onto thin air with wide eyes as he lowered his wand over her flesh. The tip pressed lightly against her flawless skin, but somehow the pain did not seem relevant. She was looking up at him with wide eyes.

She did not understand.

"This may hurt," he murmured, though he did not sound remorseful. She did not care. She was shacking anyway before the pain began.

She did not cry. She did not even whimper as the mark was burned into her arm. It was like fire was being injected into her veins. She bit into the side of her mouth refusing to show weakness in front of him. She clenched down on the air that seemed somehow more solid, her nails digging in hard as she looked straight at the Dark Lord. His eyes were concentrating on her arm and it was only when the pain dulled that she found the eye contact that she craved.

"You did not scream," he noted his tone indicating interest as he examined her from head to toe. It was like she was being sized up, but, unlike other men, his eyes did not linger over her curves or show any sign he recognised her as a woman.

"No," she repeated still holding down on the solid air barely sure what she was saying.

Looking down at her arm, the sign of the serpent and skull engraved on her skin should have held her attention. The pain at least surging from that spot should have been enough to cause her to do such a thing, but she quickly found her focus directed to what she was holding.

She was not sure if he had placed his hand there or she had merely reached for it, but her hand was clamped around a set of long pale fingers that were marred by trickles of scarlet. She whimpered for the first time releasing her grip immediately and looking down at his blood on her hand.

"Oh- Merlin! My Lord, I-" she stuttered her face now even more red as she looked up at him with wide eyes struggling what to say. She had touched him without permission. She had hurt him! "I'm sorry. I-"

He raised the same hand silencing her without a word as he looked down at her critically. "Stand." She did as she was bidden snapping to attention, though her legs shook slightly as she straightened completely. "I can see potential in you, Miss Black. I want to see that harnessed. It will be. I will train you myself, personally."

She was not sure how that had occurred. She did not know how she had gone from hurting him to acquiring lessons from him. She could only nod. She could only smile and try to force some logical thoughts into her mind.

She should not think about touching him again. She should not think the way her brain was heading. He was the Dark Lord

She was only Bellatrix Black.


End file.
